


what i love.

by bhubblemilk



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhubblemilk/pseuds/bhubblemilk
Summary: Maybe this is why you love Minho.





	what i love.

There are a lot of things you love about Minho. But if someone were to give you a pen and paper to list out all the things about him that you had come to fall heavily in love with and the reasons behind the strong feeling that tugged at the entirety of your beating heart, you wouldn’t have be able to.

You probably wouldn’t even pick up the pen because you were too busy trying to cultivate an answer, to form coherent sentences with the vast existence of human languages, and even so you didn’t think any amount of words could ever live up to the beautiful existence that is Lee Minho.

Minho wasn’t smart, for sure. He was far from being a know-it-all or a well-rounded, but he was hard-working. You could, almost always, physically see the effort he puts into everything he does, whether it is something trivial like having a spontaneous baking session with you or something more important like studying for final exams. And his serious eyes made you feel stronger, for some reason, they made you want to do better.

Minho was also really ambitious and passionate about what he loves, which you’ve come to know is performing on stage. He takes time out of each week—usually one to two hours on the weekends—to dance with his friends, to help make sweet melodies that he would hum when the sky turned a shade of serenity twilight, as you two laid on the floor with your heads in a dream. His fingers were always brushing against your knuckles as if the mere touch of your skin would give him the answer to creating the perfect song.

You remember Minho’s touches vividly, even when he was right next to you. They were always very gentle, he made sure to be very gentle with you at all times—nose nudges, cheek nuzzles, forehead bumps. Even when, occasionally, his fingers get the chance to dance across all surface of your skin and his lips can wander down your chest in loving caresses, he made sure his movements were soft and light (unless, of course, if you had yearned for something else particularly).

And the halo glow in Minho’s beautiful round eyes always treated you kindly, letting you see into his affectionate soul. They were the most adoring to look into during the morning when you groggily opened your eyes to find him looking right back at you with half-opened eyes. He would smile a little while he pushes the side of his cheek further into the fluffy pillow, then his bangs would shift to cover his moon-shaped eyes.

It was his smile. You always knew what kind of morning it would be when he smiles at you like that.

It was the quiet kind of morning. The kind where the sunlight makes sounds. Perhaps it was all in your head, but you could hear the gentle static of the dust and the slow rustling of leaves coming from the illuminated corner of your apartment. The sounds often accompanied by the gentle breeze from the fan placed close to the end of your bed and silent ticking of the clock telling you both to wake up.

It was kind of morning where the sun beams into the closed curtain because somehow you two had decided to get curtains with very thin fabric that does almost nothing to cover the sun. But that was never a problem for you, Minho’s back always seemed to block out the light for you, sometimes he let you shift closer to his chest if the sun was being playful.

His eyes mirror the break of dawn in those mornings and he never really talks, nor do you. It was to keep the hushed intimacy, you would like to think, to keep it something that could only happen between you and Minho, something private that none can replicate. Until the quietness was broken anyway, which always happens, and then the room would be filled with voices.

Still, no words were spoken, but there were delighted giggles and content huffs that would turn into another round of joyful giggles. It comes in a cycle, in that order exactly, and you could guarantee they were mostly due to Minho’s unpredictable kisses.

Minho liked to kiss you in the morning. He loves kissing you any time of day but there was something special about the morning, the quiet morning when you were both so unguarded and relaxed in your bed. Your lips taste of delicacy when he pressed his up against yours, the sensation fulfilling to a point he never really realize how much close he had brought you to him.

And then suddenly he was hovering on top of you, and your ankle would brush past the back of his leg as both of you get lost in the moment of each other’s loving, desire-fueled touches. And you two kissed each other, feeling the most treasured in each other’s arms as you have ever felt.

You would grab the pen then, perhaps, as you recall those moments with him. The moments when you think your love and attachment would last, when you knew that your heart will be Minho’s, forever and always, when he makes you want to linger, with him, for the rest of your life.

Maybe that was what you loved about Minho.


End file.
